


A Broken Beacon

by Dan_Francisco



Series: RWBY in the Cold War [5]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cold War, Divergent Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dan_Francisco/pseuds/Dan_Francisco
Summary: The VITAL Festival is usually a time for peace and celebration. In 1985, however, danger is just beyond the horizon, and not all of your friends can be trusted. RWBY and JNPR must figure out who they can trust, and quickly – this is just the first step. Divergent timeline for Romeo Whiskey Bravo Yankee, Cold War AU.





	1. Trailer

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the trailer for A Broken Beacon! This will get updated later as Romeo Whiskey Bravo Yankee winds down, but until then, here's the backdrop you all get to speculate and wonder on. Enjoy!

_A smaller, more honest soul...it's true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary. I saw it when the Nazis invaded my home. The ability to derive strength from hope is undoubtedly mankind's greatest attribute. Which is why, for you, I will focus all of my power to snuff it out._

Before her, she could see the convoys moving. What division was it? Did it matter, in the end? Endless rows of T-72B tanks, joined by T-80BVs and wave upon wave of BTRs and BMPs. She knew where they were heading, right to the front line. The entire Soviet Union had mobilized for another Great Patriotic War, this time not out of necessity, but out of ideology.

_How does it feel, knowing that all of your time and effort has been for nothing? That your guardians have failed you? That everything you've built will be torn down before your very eyes? Your faith in capitalism was not misplaced. When banded together, united by a common enemy, capitalists are a noticeable threat. But divide them, place doubt into their minds, and any semblance of power they once had will wash away._

Radio transmissions flooded her quarters, from both Soviet and international sources. They told the tale of a panicked United States, reeling from an attack. European broadcasters tried to relay to their listeners how and why there were suddenly East German soldiers crossing the border. Soviet radio talent reminded the population that the curtain was closing on the West.

_Of course, they won't realize it at first. Like you, they'll cling to their fleeting hope, their aspirations. But this is merely the first move. So you send your guardians, send your young men and women, and when they fail and you turn to your smaller souls, know that you send them to the same pitiful demise. This is the beginning of the end, America. And I can't **wait**  to watch you burn._


	2. Sokrytiye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something troubling is brewing east of the Iron Curtain.

Another day in the worker's paradise.

 

Cinder was a highly-trained Spetsnaz agent, specializing in infiltration and rear-line sabotage. She also was fluent in German, English, Russian, and her native Ukrainian. Heading to Novosibirsk, she almost missed being able to stay in her home town of Kiev, watching the Dnieper River flow by. But, orders were orders, and head to her handler she must.

 

Novosibirsk was cold this time of year, well below freezing. The frigid air complemented the crisp, clear sky which seemed to stretch on endlessly for miles. Cinder couldn't contemplate the weather for long – she had to head for the Oblast administrative building, where her handler would be. The seven-story building was typical of Soviet architecture, featuring futurism as envisioned by Stalin with art-deco influences from the Western world. At least they were good for something.

 

Cinder entered the room, finding her handler, Salem, already present. She was clearly older, at least in her mid-40s, dressed in a picture-perfect gray dress reminiscent of Cinder's own clothing as a Komsomol member. Her white hair was kept in a tight bun, freeing any errant strands from her piercing eyes. Immediately, Cinder also took note of three others in the room, all at attention.

“Ah, Cinder,” Salem said, nodding in recognition. “You've arrived. Excellent.”

“Of course, comrade,” Cinder replied. “I assume these are my teammates?”

“Astute observation. Cinder, meet Neapolitan, Emerald, and Mercury. I hope you appreciate why we're using code names.”

“Secrecy is of the utmost importance. I understand, Salem.”

 

Salem gestured to the one called Neapolitan, a small woman clad in a Soviet Army uniform with airborne tabs on her shoulders. “This is Neapolitan, a VDV sergeant. She's highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and a master of weapons both Soviet and foreign alike. She'll be very useful on your mission.”

Next, she gestured to the other two, a woman with green hair and a man with blue hair. “This is Emerald and Mercury, both Spetsnaz GRU agents like yourself. Emerald is a master of _maskirovka,_ while Mercury here is also well-trained in close quarters combat. His skill in languages will help you.”

 

Salem asked the four to take a seat, which they did. She unfurled a projector screen, showing a school of some kind. It wasn't Soviet. Not European, the campus was too large. No, this had to be American. It was the only conclusion.

“This is Beacon Academy, a senior American military academy located in California. In two years, they will be hosting international military cadets from NATO in friendly, semi-competitive wargames.”

Another slide. This was another school, one Cinder knew on sight. _Führungsakademie des Atlas_. The premier West German military academy, and a perfect example of West German hypocrisy. How they so wanted to disavow their Nazi and Prussian past, and here they were, upholding an institution that claimed heritage to the 1840s.

“You all know well this school. You five will infiltrate Atlas, and when Atlas sends their representatives to Beacon for their wargames, you will go with them. You will have to live among the capitalists for two years, comrades, don't slip up otherwise your entire mission is doomed.”

 

“If I may, Comrade,” Mercury asked, raising his hand, “what exactly _is_ our mission? You haven't discussed that yet.”

“You will know further when the time comes. Just know that there are large plans at work, comrades. It pains me to rid the VDV of one of their best sergeants,” Salem said, casting an approving eye upon Neapolitan, “especially when they will so desperately need good ones. You'll have your detailed orders soon enough.”

“Comrade,” Cinder said, “you mentioned 'five,' but I only count four in this room. Who's the fifth?”

“That would be me, _kamerad_ ,” a voice called. The four turned around, seeing a man with striking red hair and a cocky grin on his face enter the room.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Salem announced, “meet Roman. He is a German Democratic Republic Stasi agent. His knowledge of the West German system will ensure you blend in perfectly. I want to emphasize, you all have been chosen for your skills and your youth, as you are all the perfect age to impersonate hopeful young West German soldiers.”

 

“Stasi, huh?” Mercury asked. “I thought you guys only worked in Germany.”

“Special case,” Roman replied. “Moscow asked specifically for me, and Berlin agreed to release me for this mission. Consider it another sign of the close friendship and cooperation between the KGB and Stasi.”

“Let us focus, comrades,” Salem commanded, redirecting their attention back to her. “You will head to the German Democratic Republic in a few short hours. From there, you will be housed in a KGB safehouse, where you each will have a dossier detailing your new identity. When you infiltrate West Germany, use these identities to join Atlas. My KGB contacts there will ensure you will both get in and remain in the same squad and company.”

 

“And from there,” Emerald said, connecting the dots, “we'll be picked to go to Beacon for their wargames.”

“Precisely, good work, comrade. When that happens, you'll receive updated orders. Until then, maintain your cover at Atlas. I cannot emphasize how much rests upon you five remaining undiscovered.”

“Understood, comrade,” they replied, upon which they were formally dismissed to head to Germany.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, if we're going to be working together,” Roman said, leaning back on his airplane seat, “we should know a little more about each other. Nothing too personal, I know how you Spetsnaz guys are. But, you know, a little something.”

“We shouldn't get too close,” Cinder warned. “It could cause issues.”

“I know!” Roman said, snapping his fingers. “How about this. Where are you all from? That's not classified, right? I'll start. I'm from Magdeburg. Now one of you go.”

“Baku,” Mercury said.

“Voronezh,” Emerald said.

The four looked immediately to Cinder, who sighed as she rolled her eyes. This wasn't part of their mission.

“Fine,” Cinder muttered. “Kiev. Happy now?”

 

Their gazes turned to Neapolitan, who smiled as if she knew something they didn't. Come to think of it, Cinder didn't remember the VDV sergeant saying anything the entire time during the briefing. Shyness wasn't exactly a VDV trait.

“What's with her?” Emerald finally asked.

“I think I read about this in her file,” Roman said. “Took a vow of silence, I think. Alright, come on, who's got pen and paper?”

Neapolitan shook her head, making as if she were holding a rifle in her hands.

“Ooh, charades,” Mercury said. “I like this game. Alright, you got a rifle. Soviet?”

She nodded, pointing to where the receiver would be. Cinder guessed it – something on the receiver. Markings? She was on the right track. Neapolitan drew a star with her finger.

“Oh, I know this,” Emerald said. “That's the marking for the Tula factory, right? You're from Tula?”

 

Neapolitan nodded again, giving Emerald a thumbs-up. Well, it certainly was an unconventional method of telling them something. At long as it didn't affect them in the field, Cinder could tolerate it.

 

* * *

 

 

The _Grenztruppen der DDR_ were less than enthused that Roman, using his Stasi connections, had forced them to ignore their duty while the five made their way across to West Germany.

“This is highly irregular, comrade,” the border watch captain said, his peaked cap covering his face in the moonlight.

“I know, I know,” Roman said, trying his best to cajole the captain. “But it's Stasi business.”

The captain sighed, looking over their papers as he smoked a cigarette. He flipped through their covers almost as if he were searching for a reason to deny them passage to the West, perhaps fearful they were actually defectors. Cinder knew full well how seriously the German border troops took the crime of _Republikflucht,_ with a standing shoot-to-kill order on all attempting deserters. She looked up to the guard tower – the troopers up there, three of them, watched not only them but the border as well. The one with the PKM looked like he might have had an itchy trigger finger. All of them looked down on her group with a watchful eye, on guard for any potential betrayal.

 

Behind her, Emerald and Mercury nervously shifted their weight. Cinder glanced back – Mercury was doing the same as her, taking note of the guards in the tower, near the checkpoint in front of them. She could see him eying the captain's Makarov, no doubt planning to take it for his own in case this officer decided his duty was worth upholding more than his party loyalty. Cinder didn't think it would come to that – _Grenztruppen_ officers in particular were noted for their political reliability. Emerald just looked nervous, afraid of potential execution if this captain decided the orders from Moscow were elaborate fakes.

 

Even in the dark, she could also see Neapolitan's eyes narrowing, sizing up each trooper. Though she was far smaller than any soldier here, there was a certain fire in Neapolitan's eyes and stance that made Cinder glad she was on their side. The border watch captain scratched his face, groaning as he carefully examined the documents. On occasion, he glanced up at them, taking particular note of Neapolitan.

“This one's papers list her as _Vozdushno-desantnye voyska,_ ” he said, gesturing to her. “I was told your group would be part of the KGB.”

“She's been attached to the KGB for our mission, comrade,” Cinder answered in German.

The captain's eyes narrowed, and he frowned intensely. “Can she not speak for herself? Or does she just not understand German?”

“Took a vow of silence, _Herr Hauptmann,_ ” Roman said.

“Hmm,” the captain replied, casting a scrutinizing eye on the VDV sergeant.

 

He shuffled their papers around some more, before putting out his cigarette and returning the papers back. He made it clear he wasn't happy with allowing them to cross the border, but as long as their documents were proper, his hands were tied. The implied threat of Stasi and KGB influence coming down on his head seemed to also have coerced him into allowing them through.

 

Getting past their German bodyguards was not difficult. What _would_ be difficult would be crossing the actual border region, and evading nighttime West German patrols. If they kept on this path, they also may have to contend with either British Frontier Service or US Army patrols. However, they knew that the British had the smallest presence, and the Americans in Hesse were the target of peace activists, limiting their abilities to operate in that sector. Multiple entry points had been considered by Salem, but ultimately she and Cinder had decided to infiltrate via the British sector, and through there they went.

 

Their hike through the border regions went mostly unnoticed. Most border civilians were peacefully asleep, their nights tormented by the memories of the propaganda war the two German states waged upon another. Roman had ranted on the plane about the normalization of relations, lamenting that his country had given up “such fertile ground” to begin a revolution in Bonn.

 

Cinder could clearly hear voices, their accents betrayed them as British. Good, the five of them could easily overwhelm an unarmed patrol, especially in the dead of night. A double agent in Britain's MI6 had informed them that, as of late, the British patrols had been issued weapons, but not ammunition due to London viewing the area as more of a training ground rather than a serious military concern. They had the advantage – the moon was, by now, concealed by clouds, and the British were completely unaware of their presence.

 

_“_ _It's_ _dark as hell out 'ere,”_ one of them commented.

_“Aye,_ _but_ _just keep it down and check the wire, would_ _you_ _? Hiley's gonna_ _blow his top_ _if we don't do our bloody jobs.”_

_“Fucking thing's fine, just like yesterday! Come on, let's get going.”_

No doubt satisfied nothing was amiss, the British trundled away, their gear clattering the whole way. Once they had faded off into the night, the five infiltrators made their move, skillfully cutting the wire in an unchecked spot. They were clear. Just five kilometers to the hinterlands of Germany, and they could begin their plot to pose as soldiers of Atlas and West Germany.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Mailanruf!”_ an Atlas sergeant called, carrying a large sack into the barracks. In a haze, the weary Atlas soldiers gathered together, waiting patiently for the sergeant to find and distribute mail for them. Cinder, Mercury, Emerald, Roman, and Neapolitan had successfully spent two years in the academy. Cinder had shot up like a rocket to the rank of _Stabsunteroffizier,_ with the other four her subordinates. Neapolitan and Emerald both played perfectly the roles of dedicated young West German women, staying quiet and respectful in the barracks to their peers as _Hauptgefreiters_ , while Mercury purposefully assumed an identity as a rogue, staying as an _Obergefreiter_ so as to keep himself in the squad. Roman too was quickly on his way to a promotion to _Unteroffizier,_ save for some unsavory alcohol issues he conjured up to prevent himself from being fast-tracked too quickly.

 

Usually, mail call for the five was scarce, with only occasional update mail being sent to them by supposed grandmothers and concerned parents. In reality, each correspondence they received was coded KGB communications, slipped into the West German postal system by Stasi agents, written by Salem in order to give them further directives and a way to keep them in the loop.

 

_“Stabsunteroffizier Bischoffs,_ ” the sergeant called, waving a letter towards Cinder. “ _Sie haben einen Brief._ ”

_“Danke,”_ Cinder replied, taking the letter. She made herself scarce from the group, opening the letter and reading over its contents. It wasn't said outright, of course, that'd just be absurd, but the code word Cinder was looking for was contained inside.

 

_Climb Mount Narodnaya._

 

Emerald, Roman, Neapolitan and Mercury soon joined her, having received nothing for mail call. As the other soldiers filtered out, they could finally speak somewhat freely.

“Well?” Mercury asked, folding his arms. “What's the word?”  
“Salem has told us to climb Mount Narodnaya.”

Grins crossed their faces. The time was soon coming.

“So, it's real then,” Roman said. “Moscow's going to cross the border.”

 

“You all know what this means,” Cinder said. “Be on your best behavior. We're sure to be picked to go to America, but we don't need any suspicious eyes on us. I'll shoot you myself if you jeopardize this mission.”

“Not to worry,” Emerald chimed in. “We're committed.”

“They won't ever know what hit them,” Mercury said.


	3. Imitatsiya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The VITAL Festival begins, and so too does the Spetsnaz plot.

Beacon Academy. The finest institution in the United States for churning out imperialist-minded officers. Every inch of Beacon and the surrounding city of San Francisco made Cinder sick to her stomach, every abundant decadence of the West on full display for everyone to see. However, Cinder couldn't allow her personal feelings get in the way of her mission. She had to swallow her pride and disgust, and pretend to be a good West German soldier for just a little while longer.

 

Unexpectedly, they found that Winter Schnee had decided to make the trip out with them. It was a blessing in disguise, really – if the Schnee officer wasn't in Germany, directing the movement of the West German long-range recon team, they could kill her here, shattering another component of the West's defenses.

 

They had been given dossiers on Beacon's staff long ago, hidden thanks to the skill of Salem's KGB contact in Atlas. A corner of the barracks that Beacon had built was dedicated solely to them, a group of rooms that only they would be using. No interruptions, no way for someone to accidentally walk in on them planning to destroy the next generation of American officers.

 

“We have six primary targets ahead of us,” Cinder lectured them, pointing to photos she had pinned on the wall of Beacon's senior staff, supplemented by Winter Schnee's picture. “Commandant Ozpin, Chief Goodwitch, Colonel Port, Command Sergeant Major Burke, Cadet Colonel Logan, and Winter Schnee.”

“Which do you recommend we take out first?” Mercury asked.

“The Commandant and Chief Goodwitch are the most important. Their deaths will deplete the morale of this entire campus. From there, taking out Sergeant Major Burke and Cadet Colonel Logan will ensure the cadets have no internal senior leadership.”

“And what about that Schnee _schweinehund_?”

 

“I would prefer to eliminate her in Phase 2,” Cinder said. “When we take over the armory, we can more reliably get rid of those who stand against us, but we will need to be quick about it. They will catch on once the shooting starts.”

Roman shook his head, clearly not thrilled with this order of events. “She's West German special forces, I say we take her out _sooner_ rather than later. Old men and aging senior non-commissioned officers can wait.”

“Right, speaking of Phase 2,” Mercury said, ignoring Roman, “when do we begin that? Who's all assigned to it?”

 

“Oh, relax, Mercury,” Emerald said, leaning back on her bed. “You don't need to know everyone's duty roster.”

“It only makes sense. If one of us is discovered, or perish the thought, killed...”

“I wouldn't worry about it,” Roman said, smiling confidently. “We're skilled. You saw how these Americans fought – they're new, inexperienced. Not one of them would pass _Nationale Volksarmee_ training.”

 

Cinder was annoyed with the German's boasting, but kept quiet. The talk of fearing for their lives was making her irritated – didn't they realize that this was a one-way mission? That no matter how well they did here, there was virtually no way for them to get back to the Soviet Union? Cinder had made her peace with never seeing her beloved Kiev again a year ago, but she wasn't sure the others were even aware of their perilous situation.

 

_“Moving on,”_ Cinder announced, getting them back on track. “We may find it beneficial to acquire American uniforms to continue spreading chaos. If we do, we'll have to rely on our English skills; who among you can imitate Americans flawlessly?”

Mercury and Emerald raised their hands, while Roman wavered. Neopolitan, being silent, declined to commit. Roman and Neopolitan could stay out, that was fine – ruining the trust Beacon's cadets had for each didn't necessarily require perfect English skills.

“Right, so back to Phase 2,” Mercury said, “when are we undertaking all of this? When do we go into Phase 3?”

“Phase 3 only happens when the campus is in a state of panic,” Cinder explained. “Brother against brother, as they say. This campus will be a battleground between people who can't trust the soldier next to them.”

 

Her team nodded, prepared to face their mission head-on. Tomorrow, after Atlas conducted their attack on a forested position, they would begin to sow the seeds of havoc and destruction.

 

* * *

 

 

The Atlas attack was as Cinder expected. Methodical, overwhelming, and using a massive amount of machine guns. She could hear a few cadets grumble that they couldn't use their beloved MG3, and instead had to deal with the bulky American M60s. _If they want 'bulky,_ ' Cinder thought, _they should try lugging around an RPD._

 

Regardless, the time was coming. Cinder's job was to provide cover while Roman, Neopolitan, Mercury and Emerald moved to take out their targets. Doing so with everyone watching would be difficult, but she believed in their abilities. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Mercury led them away, claiming a false incident that would demand the Commandant's attention. Good. One of the visiting Americans, one without any care in the world, was talking to one of the cadets, a red-haired one. She hadn't expected American special forces to make an appearance, but anything was possible.

 

The next exercise was starting. Roman and Neopolitan should have already planted the explosives by now. They had set them inside one of Beacon's barracks, under guise of delivering a package on behalf of an American cadet. In reality, the bombs had been crafted to wreck the buildings entirely. If they had timed it right, the explosives would be going off any second now.

 

A deafening explosion rocked the campus, causing the students to turn to it involuntarily. Cinder did her best acting job, playing the part of a concerned cadet wondering what was going on, but on the inside she smiled. She could see the damage from here – the building Roman and Neopolitan had selected now had a massive hole in it, and she could already hear shouts coming in for help.

 

Phase 1 was underway perfectly. At this rate, Phase 2 would decimate this campus.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the hell just happened?”

Ruby, Ren and Nora stared at their former barracks, watching smoke pour out of it. They clutched their rifles in their hands, trying to make sense of the scene in front of them.

“I...I don't think this is part of the exercise,” Nora commented.

“Come on” Ruby said, starting to move towards the remains of the barracks, “we've gotta _do_ something! Let's go!”

One by one, her friends fell in behind her. She couldn't think about her personal safety anymore. Finding Yang was the only priority.

 

Ruby could now see firsthand the devastation on the bombed barracks. It was far, _far_ worse than she first thought when she was on the drill field. The entrance to her barracks had been replaced by a gaping hole, and the familiar desk she always had desk duty at was obliterated. Holes had been opened up on the second and third floors, showing the staircases up to them. She heard the screams first, a cacophony of high pitched wailing that seemed to rattle her bones. Humans weren't supposed to make those sorts of noises. As they came closer, the stench hit her – burnt flesh and charcoal and blood and _something_ she couldn't place, but it made her stomach turn over.

“I need a fucking medic over here, _now!”_ somebody shouted.

_“Help me!”_ called another voice. “Somebody! Anyone!”

She heard crying, the pained whimpers of cadets. She saw soldiers in uniforms with chunks of their bodies just _gone._ A sergeant missing her legs crawled out of the rubble before collapsing.

 

“Ruby,” Nora asked, her voice shaky, “where is everyone?”

“I don't know,” Ruby said.

Ruby and her friends stood frozen in fear. They had to help, obviously, but where to start? Her first aid training during Induction Week hadn't prepared her for this. She wanted desperately for someone, _anyone,_ to give orders, but the entire area was in chaos. The greens of the Beacon uniforms mixed with German black and gold, Israeli khaki, Japanese white, and the harsh crimson of the blood.

 

She looked around. Was there an aid station? No, no time to set one up yet. The medics moved like robots, treating people on the spot rather than trying to move them. Even then, treatment didn't seem to be guaranteed. Some medics took one look at a cadet and kept walking, while others stayed by trapped cadet's sides.

 

Ruby lost track of time and she helped carry the wounded, and make sure those who couldn't be moved had what they needed. Before she could even think of looking for her sister in the mass confusion, Qrow was next to her.

“Ruby,” he said, pulling her away from a sobbing private trapped under rubble, “don't you know how _dangerous_ this is? What do you think you're doing?”

“Let me help, please,” Ruby replied, feeling tears form. “Where's Yang? Where's Pyrrha?”

“Look, I'm pretty sure I saw Yang. She wasn't here, okay?” Qrow said, trying to calm her down. “Your friend's safe. Look at me, Ruby. _Look at me._ There could be other bombs here. It's not safe. Go to the gym, alright? That's where the Israelis and Japanese are, okay? It's safe there.”

 

Ruby nodded in a daze, but still remained standing in front of Uncle Qrow, her hands shaking.

He was about to head off, but did a double take, pointing to the gym. “That wasn't a _suggestion,_ Ruby. _Go!”_

She and her friends shuffled, almost like zombies, to the gym. What Qrow had said was true. The Japanese and Israeli cadets _were_ there, sounding off to make sure they had their full numbers. Other scattered groups of Beacon cadets were there as well, trying to find some semblance of cohesion in this panic.

 

“What the _fuck_ happened?!” somebody asked. “Who was up there?”

“Find the Lieutenant!” a sergeant shouted, dispatching two newer cadets to the task.

“This isn't happening,” a private muttered, rocking back and forth on the ground, her hair covering her eyes. “It's not right, it's not right, _**don't fucking touch me!!”**_

Medics from all visiting academies were overlooking anyone who happened to be nearby. A few cadets had bloodstained clothes. Some looked fine. Ruby passed one who was just staring straight ahead, and was startled by a medic coming up on his right. The medic asked him something – what, Ruby wasn't sure – but she could hear the cadet's response from miles away.

“What?” Watching the medic again, the cadet's face twisted in horror. “I can't hear... _I can't hear anything!”_

 

* * *

 

 

Ruby and her friends collapsed near the entrance to the gym, nestled in between panicked Japanese squads and eerily calm Israelis. More and more Beacon cadets began to join them, trickling in at first, and then flooding in all at once. Companies were reorganized, with glaring exceptions. Alpha was down to just the First Sergeant and seven cadets of various ranks. Bravo thankfully had only lost one squad, but they were all made up of members of Ruby's Induction Week, a conspicuous void in their usually full company. Charlie lost nearly a dozen members, including their captain and First Sergeant.

 

For reasons unknown to Ruby, half of the visiting academies had been split. A majority of the German and Israeli cadets were stranded on the opposite side of campus, joined by Echo, Delta and Foxtrot companies from Beacon. Nobody knew the status of their senior cadre. Commandant Ozpin and Chief Goodwitch were MIA as well. If there was chaos and disorder before, the lack of information about the senior staff just made their panic even worse.

 

* * *

 

 

The sea of confused German filled Blake's ears, as she and Weiss tried to make sense of what was going on. They were totally alone here – cut off from their company, with unfamiliar faces around them, and with no way of knowing where anyone was.

_“Ich glaube das nicht...”_ Weiss muttered, her eyes locked on their former barracks.

Blake looked around, trying to find something, _anything_ familiar. Other than sergeants she couldn't recognize, nothing. Unless...wait, there was Yang.

“Yang!” Blake shouted, drawing her attention to them. Yang jogged over, concern covering her face. “Yang,” Blake asked, “are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. Is Ruby here? I didn't see her on the field.”

“No, she isn't.”

 

Yang's face became even more worried, and her shoulders dropped as she tried to find her sister in the crowd.

“Yang, I'm sure she's fine,” Blake reassured her, “she can take care of herself.”

Yang closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and formed fists. “Right. I'm heading to the drill field. I think there's Bravo there.”

 

Before Blake could try to stop her, Yang had already run off. Weiss stopped talking to herself in German long enough to step next to Blake, watching their squadmate run off.

“This can't be happening. Blake, what are we going to do?”

Blake wasn't sure she had a real answer. But they had to do _something,_ after all.

“We're going to do our job,” she said pensively.

Blake and Weiss stepped off, heading to the supply depot. If anything, help could be found there. On their journey across campus, the PA system crackled alive.

 

_“Now hear this!”_ called the voice of Cadet Colonel Logan. _“Now hear this! All Beacon cadets are to gather at the drill field immediately. This institution has been deliberately and suddenly attacked by unknown assailants. Those who are wounded will be attended to by our medical corps. All cadets are to be on the lookout for two Atlas cadets who are believed to have had a hand in the attack.”_

 

They paused, and exchanged a worried look. Blake knew what Weiss was thinking – how could a German do this? But Blake was asking herself a different question.

 

Where had Weiss been when the bombs went off?

 

She didn't remember Weiss being near her when it happened. She remembered Weiss heading to her, scared, confused, and asking what was going on. Who would have let the bombers into the building? Only someone from Beacon could have done that.

 

And so far, Weiss was looking pretty suspect.


	4. Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicions begin to grow around campus.

“Report,” Cinder said to her team, away from the prying ears of the other Atlas cadets, “how did it go?”

“You saw the damage on the barracks,” Roman said. “Lots of casualties.”

“I couldn't get the Commandant and Chief Goodwitch alone before the bombs went off, you set them too early,” Emerald said.

“The Sergeant Major is dead, at least,” Mercury added. “I haven't seen Winter Schnee around.”

“We can't assume she's been taken care of,” Cinder concluded. “We either need a body, or to make sure there's no doubt. Alright, Roman, head to the supply depot. Secure those uniforms for us. They already suspect Atlas cadets for our treachery. Neopolitan, go with him. Emerald, Mercury, you and I will keep playing the part of Atlas cadets until we have our uniforms.”

“Understood,” they said, with Roman and Neopolitan heading off to do their tasks.

 

As they fell back in with the Atlas crowd, Emerald leaned close to Cinder. “I hope we're doing the right thing here.”

“Do you doubt our mission, in its critical hour?”

“No, of course not, but – I don't know. I don't think I expected this, is all.”

Cinder looked at Emerald's face. She was actually disturbed. Salem had told her that Emerald was reliable, both politically and personally. She would have to watch her comrade more carefully, then. Maybe the years at Atlas had warped her proud Soviet mind.

 

* * *

 

 

Roman and Neopolitan approached the supply depot, where a lone sergeant stood guard, unarmed. He watched them approach, frowning.

“Hey,” he said, holding out a hand, “you can't be here. Atlas cadets are forming up over there. Fall in and report to your squad leaders.”

Roman stopped, letting Neopolitan continue her approach. The sergeant's eyes narrowed, and he began to raise his voice.

“What, do you not speak English? _Go find your companies!_ That's a direct order!”

“I zink we found zem,” Roman said.

 

Neopolitan closed the distance with the sergeant, wrapping behind him and snapping his neck. Together, they dragged the body inside, stripping him of his uniform. Rather conveniently, it was close enough to Roman's size that they didn't need to find another one. Roman had memorized the details of all of their uniforms, and already converted them to American sizes, and so finding the right matches wasn't difficult. Their new disguises stuffed into a large olive drab bag, Roman and Neopolitan headed back to rejoin their comrades.

 

* * *

 

 

Blake and Weiss managed to get to the supply depot without spotting anything unusual. She had been on the lookout for any potential oddities, but their tour through the panicked campus was coming up empty so far. It looked empty. Wasn't there supposed to be someone here? The door was open, too. That was strange.

 

Blake and Weiss exchanged the same worried look, before heading in. They moved slowly and carefully, unsure what they'd find. Clearing the building without any weapons was hard, but it was better to be safe than dead. Blake was checking the office when she heard Weiss gasp from across the hall, and ran straight to her. She stood before a dead body, stripped of his uniform and dignity.

“Oh fuck,” Blake muttered. “Is-is he...?”

“He's dead,” Weiss said, matter of fact. “Just... _Gott im Himmel..._ ”

“Okay, alright, uh,” Blake said, trying to find courage again, “maybe...maybe we can like, get on the radio with someone? There's gotta be a working radio around here, right?”

 

Blake began searching through the supply depot, looking for a radio, something, _anything_ to call for some help. And yet, something nibbled at the back of her brain. Weiss found that body. Did she know it was there? Was she truly shocked, or was she just that good of an actor? Maybe she could figure it out. If they had killed the supply sergeant, maybe they'd be coming back for something else. She had found a radio, but maybe she could send Weiss on a fool's errand, make sure she was wrong about her.

 

“Weiss, no radio,” Blake called out. “Can you like, go find someone or something?”

“But, Blake...”

“We don't have time! I'll keep this place locked down, okay?”

Weiss took a panicked breath, but quickly steeled herself. “Alright, I'll do it.”

Blake watched her run out the door, on a nonexistent mission. Good, one factor taken care of for now.

 

“Uh, hello?” Blake said into the radio once Weiss had left. “I...I'm at the supply depot. I need some help.”

“What the hell,” someone asked, “who is this? Identify yourself.”

“This is Corporal Belladonna, Bravo Company,” Blake relayed. “The supply sergeant's dead, I need some help, please.”

“Alright, soldier,” a new voice said. That was Chief Goodwitch. “We'll get Major Branwen to you. Get yourself a rifle and load it, keep that building secure. Deny entrance to **everyone** , do you understand me? I don't care if Jesus himself wants in, you deny that motherfucker.”

“Yes, Chief,” Blake said, swallowing hard. Well, that settled it. She headed straight to the armory, picked up an M14, and loaded it up, prepared to guard this building with all she had in her.

 

She really hoped that she wouldn't have to fire a shot in anger.

 

* * *

 

 

Blake had decided upon a simple challenge and response program – anyone who wanted to know what was going on only had to answer one question. “I don't want no teenage queen – so what _do_ I want?” If they answered “an M14,” she knew she could trust them. They all knew that cadence. Anyone who didn't had to have been some kind of spy, she reasoned.

 

Despite being a normal California day, the air was cold. She shivered as she stood guard, trying to keep the supply depot safe. Maybe this was all an exercise in futility. But then again, people had _died._ She saw the damage at the barracks, and now the supply sergeant was dead. _Something_ had to be going on, but what?

 

A sergeant headed towards her, a red-haired one she hadn't seen before. Maybe he was from another company? Either way, he couldn't come in.

“Stop!” Blake shouted, raising her rifle as he came closer. “Nobody's allowed in. Chief Goodwitch's orders.”

“I have my own orders,” he said. Something was... _off_ about him. What was it? Blake couldn't place it.

“Then answer me this,” Blake challenged. “I don't want no teenage queen. So what _do_ I want?”

 

The sergeant paused. His eyes darted around as he tried to find an answer. “Uh...” he muttered, “a teenage king?”

Wrong move. Blake figured it out now. He had an accent, one that shouldn't belong to a Beacon student. He was a _German._ Blake squeezed the trigger on the M14 as he stepped forward, thinking he had the right answer. The imposter was knocked backwards, falling on his back and hitting the ground. Blake immediately rushed over to him, making sure he was down for the count.

 

“ _Verdammt...Spetsnaz Schlampe...”_

“Who the hell are you?!” Blake shouted. “Answer me!”

“ _Alte Not gilt es zu zwingen, und wir zwingen sie vereint,”_ he sang, deliriously, “ _denn es muss uns doch gelingen, daß die Sonne schön wie nie...”_

He coughed up blood, before staring straight up at the sky.

_“Über Deutschland scheint,_ _ü_ _ber...Deutschland...scheint.”_

He let out a last breath, his head falling to the side.

 

Blake heard heavy footsteps approaching, and looked up. It was Major Branwen, looking pretty pissed off from the looks of it.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he shouted, nearing Blake and the dead German, “did you fucking shoot this guy? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“He's a fucking German in an American uniform!” Blake shouted. “He wanted into the supply depot, Chief Goodwitch told me nobody was allowed in!”

Major Branwen shook his head, looking over the dead body. “Whatever. I guess we'll see if you're lying, or just crazy. Chief said you had another body in there. Show me.”

Blake led him to the dead supply sergeant, and he knelt down, examining it. Wordlessly, Major Branwen headed back outside, looking over the dead German.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” he said. “Did this guy say anything before he died?”

“Uh...” Blake said, trying to form the words, “um...something like...Spetsnaz Swamp? Uber Douchebag?”

“Fucking goddammit,” Major Branwen exclaimed, shaking his head. “I was afraid of that. We've got fucking Spetsnaz on campus.”

“What...what are Spetsnaz?”

“Soviet special forces, dangerous people. Alright, here's what you're gonna do, kid, form back up with your company. I'm gonna let the Commandant know what's going on.”

“What...what should I do with my rifle?” Blake asked.

“Keep it,” he said, “might come in handy. Spread the word. We've got Russian special forces here, and if this clown had an American uniform, the others probably have ones of their own.”

 

Blake nodded, determined and yet fearful all the same. She turned, heading to the drill field with her rifle in hand. As she ran, streaming past casualties at the aid station, she suddenly remembered the US Army's motto. _This We'll Defend._

 

* * *

 

 

Blake's arrival at the drill field was met with a verbal beatdown from the First Sergeant, but also the concerned looks from her friends and company leaders, wondering why she had an M14. She quickly relayed the news – there were officially Soviet special forces on the campus. Orders came in to hold fast, as the officers conferred with one another, trying to establish a proper chain of command when nobody knew who was the most senior without Commandant Ozpin around.

 

Eventually, someone got the idea to look for a radio, one that could tap into local radio stations. That _had_ to be able to give them more information they reasoned. Someone dragged a still-working boom box out of the barracks, tuning it to the nearest station that sounded like it had noteworthy information.

 

_“We're getting reports now,”_ the radio said, _“of a massive Soviet invasion in Europe. Uh, we don't really have much confirmed, but our sources in Germany are saying that the East Germans, supported by the Russians, have invaded West Germany and are as far west as Frankfurt. Unconfirmed reports claim a series of explosions at several military academies in the United States, though the National Guard and Army have refused to comment...”_

 

“Bravo, listen up!” Captain Murdock shouted above the clamor of panic. “Clearly, this is the first step in the Soviet's dishonorable method of warfare. As a company, we will arm ourselves and we will defend this campus against any and all threats, whether that's Russian special forces or a full company of East German airborne! This campus shall be a bastion of freedom and security! Our war starts here, right now, Bravo! Move out to the armory!”

 

Just as quickly as she had left it, Blake was headed back to the armory. Her M14 had been requisitioned by the Captain, more willing to put his life in his own hands rather than Blake's. She couldn't blame him. If she were in his position, she'd probably do the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Bravo's arrival at the supply depot came with more panic at the sight of the German masquerading as an American. Once Major Branwen and Blake had explained the situation, however, this panic calmed some. The veneer of stress, however, couldn't go away as the company distributed M14 rifles and loaded magazines to their soldiers. Most expressed displeasure at having to handle the heavy old rifle, but it was the only choice. Unless, of course, a cadet was feeling particularly brave and wanted to try using blank rounds and a rubber bayonet to kill a Russian.

 

They weren't the first to have the idea to arm themselves. Alpha and Charlie had followed them, with Echo and Delta hot on their heels. Soon, even those rifles ran out and the cadre had to resort to issuing just simple bayonets and pocket knives, at least unless – and if – the National Guard could be called upon for support.

 

New orders came in as well once they had been fully weaponized. Bravo was to secure the bomb site, and prevent any potential saboteurs from further disrupting the already ruined barracks. Blake had heard it was bad from Ruby, but...she wasn't expecting what she saw. The walls were stained with still-fresh blood, and the smell of nitrogen hung in the air. There were still bodies that hadn't been moved, either due to not enough time or an inability on the part of the medicos.

 

Securing the outside was their first priority. A group of Germans had been sent their way as well, ones that supposedly they could trust, but the First Sergeant didn't believe it. First Sergeant Geary ordered Blake to keep them under guard, until their trustworthiness could be verified.

 

They each looked incredibly regretful, almost as if they had been the ones to plant the bombs themselves. Their faces told Blake that this probably wasn't the first time they had been suspected of some sort of wrongdoing.

“Any of you speak English?” Blake asked after about half an hour of guarding them.

“Uh, I can. A little,” one of them said, raising his hand.

“Good. You better hope that I don't find out one of you had anything to do with these Russians.”

 

“Oh, _nein, nein,_ those...those people weren't us. We didn't know.”

“Yeah, well, I had to shoot a German that was pretending to be American. Pretty sure he came from your side of the wall, Fritz.”

“All of our soldiers are here,” the German defended. “We aren't missing anyone.”

“Yeah? No pretty boys with red hair? Or do you not have gingers in Germany?”

The Germans talked among themselves for a moment, with one of them getting visibly upset, shouting what Blake assumed to be a blue streak of swears. Finally, the one who knew English looked back at her.

 

“That was one of my friend's bunkmates,” he explained. “Uh...he says that he didn't have much family, but was always quiet when we watched the news about the East.”

“Well, guess what, he was Spetsnaz. Surprise, huh?”

“It is to me. He was with us for a few years. He and his friends both.”

“What friends?”

The German shrugged. “He always hung around with this _fr_ _ä_ _ulein,_ always thought they were dating. She was always quiet. I don't think she ever said a word the entire time she was there.”

 

“Alright, cool, what about the others? How many friends did he have?”

“Oh, _ja, ja_ ,” the German said, wagging a finger. “He and three others, they were all in _Stabsunteroffizier_ Bischoffs' squad.”

 

This was bad. _Really_ bad. Two Soviet saboteurs was bad enough, but now a whole _squad_ of them? The way he was talking, the were at Atlas long enough to get to whatever was equivalent to a sergeant. How many others were here with them? What were they planning?

 

And why hadn't they done it yet?


	5. Search and Destroy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RWBY secures their barracks, as troubles on Beacon - and Blake's suspicion of Weiss - come to a boiling point.

Another volley of new orders came within the hour. Blake, Ruby, Yang and Weiss had now been given the grim task of securing the interior of their bombed barracks, now that they were almost totally sure there were no more explosive devices. Everything Blake had smelled outside was a thousand times more intense inside. She couldn't possibly imagine how many people had just been _vaporized_ by the initial blast, people who would never get a proper burial. Her M14 was heavy in her hands as she moved across the rubble and dismembered body parts, clearing each room for potential threats that never materialized.

 

They soon approached the second floor, where their room was. They had a room on the far end, and it was unlikely to have been affected by the bomb. Sure, the structural integrity of the building was definitely compromised, but if it was still standing even now, then it was probably safe.

 

The four came across numerous rooms that had been damaged by the bomb, each one with a different story. Blood would be in one room, but absent in the next. Some had lost a wall, or a part of the floor. Others looked pristine other than personal items and drawers being misplaced, knocked around by the shockwave.

 

Weiss paused in one room, holding a small medal that once hung on the wall.

“Weiss,” Ruby asked. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Weiss blatantly lied. “It's just...this is Messana's room, is all. He wasn't at the drill field.”

“Shit,” Yang muttered, before coughing. “Alright, come on, guys. We gotta keep going.”

Weiss paused again, gingerly placing the medal down on what remained of the desk before rejoining them.

 

Their mission was only interrupted again by the return to their room, which after a thorough sweep they concluded was not holding a bomb. Thankfully, it was relatively unscathed, except for a small, new hole in the floor. A splinter of wood was pinned to the ceiling in Blake's room. She speculated its path would have killed her if she had been sitting at her desk.

 

Weiss moved around like a ghost, muttering to herself in German and staring out windows. This was the only chance Blake would have to confront her. Any other time, who knows who would intervene. There was no telling who was friend or foe anymore, but she could trust Yang and Ruby.

 

“Hey, Weiss,” Blake called, waiting for her to turn around. Without warning, Blake turned the rifle on Weiss, aiming it square for her chest as she flicked off the weapon's safety. The German gasped, jumping back slightly, her eyes wide in horror.

“Blake,” she said, her voice cracking, “what are you doing?”

“Woah,” Ruby said, holding her hands up, “calm down here, alright?”

“Tell me you're not a Russian spy,” Blake demanded, staring at Weiss. “Give me _one good reason_ I shouldn't pull this trigger.”

“Blake,” Weiss replied, “this is insane. I'm not a Russian spy! I don't even speak Russian! I've spent my whole _life_ preparing to fight them, why would I be one of them now?”

 

“Those Spetsnaz out there,” Blake said, jerking her head to the window, “were playing Germans. Every German I talked to today said they sounded and acted _just like_ their friends. They were at Atlas for fucking _years_ undetected. So, I'm gonna ask you again, are you a Russian spy?”

“Blake,” Yang said, daring to step a little closer, “just...hold on here, where's this coming from?”

“Isn't it just a _little too convenient?_ ” Blake asked. “The heiress to the Schnee weapons company, going to _America_ to learn how to fight? She said it herself during Induction Week, she could have had _anything she wanted_ at Atlas and in the _Bundeswehr._ So why the hell would she come here?”

 

“ _I already told you!_ ” Weiss shouted. “I'm trying to _get away_ from my father! My entire life, he wanted me to be an officer in the _Bundeswehr,_ but that's not what I want! I don't want to reach my goals because my family name makes others afraid of me! I want to achieve my goals on my _own_ merits, not be judged by my last name!”

“Then why come here?!” Blake challenged. “Why not go to France, or Britain? Why go halfway across the damn world when Europe has just as many military academies to go to?”

“Do you think I didn't consider it? Do you think I didn't look into those places? Do you have _any idea at all_ how much influence my father has in Europe? It didn't matter _where_ I went, entire _rooms_ stopped talking when I came in because my last name is Schnee. _Generals_ were afraid to speak their mind near me because they were afraid they would offend me, and that would make Father withdraw all support for them. America is the _only place_ where nobody cared who I was.”

 

“Or, maybe,” Blake said, readjusting the rifle, “that's the story you _want_ us to believe. You knew you couldn't go to Europe, because there would already _be_ Russians there, waiting for a fifth column strike. You had to come _here,_ kill the counterattack at the _source._ ”

“Blake,” Yang said, inching between the rifle and Weiss, “wait, maybe-”

“Think about it! She has no family here! The _only_ person we saw was her supposed 'sister.' I don't know about you, but they didn't look a damn thing alike to _me_. You and Ruby have an excuse! Weiss _doesn't!_ If that wasn't her sister, who the fuck _was_ it? Who could it have been other than a Russian agent making contact?”

 

“Well,” Ruby stammered, trying to defend her friend, “that doesn't mean-”

“She found the body in the supply depot,” Blake declared. “I didn't see her when the bombs went off. She came to _me_ first, wondering what had happened. They say two Atlas cadets delivered the bomb. How'd they get in without someone from Beacon helping them? I think Weiss let them into the building, I think she's doing what they did at Atlas.”

“ _Are you out of your mind?!_ ” Weiss demanded. “You can't seriously believe this...this _drivel!_ This _conspiracy theory_ that Blake cooked up! What _proof_ do you have about any of it?!”

“Where's your sister now? Am I going to be able to look out that window and see her, or has she already made her escape?”

Weiss stared at Blake, anger and fear mixing in her face. She drew a deep breath as tears began to form in her eyes. “I wish I knew where Winter was,” she confessed, “maybe then you'd finally believe me.”

“You always have an excuse, don't you? Come on, you guys. It all adds up if you think about it.”

 

The group paused, Blake's words mulling in their head.

“Weiss,” Yang finally said, “I'm sorry. It makes sense.”

“You...you can't be serious, Yang,” Ruby said, “come on, this is _Weiss._ We've been living with her for _months,_ I think we'd know by now if she was a Russian spy.”

“I don't care what you think, Ruby,” Blake retorted, tightening her grip on the M14. “I want you to fucking answer me, Weiss. _Are. You. A. Russian. Spy.”_

 

Weiss stared at the rifle's barrel, before meeting Blake's eyes with a cold stare. “I am _not_ a Russian spy. If you really think that I would be so foolish as to believe communism's lies, to think that I would endanger my own country, then you can go ahead and shoot me. I wouldn't want to fight alongside someone who thinks that little of me anyway.”

 

Blake stared at Weiss, breathing heavily as the rifle swayed in her hands. After several tense moments, Blake drew the rifle down and away from Weiss, and the room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“Maybe I'm just not thinking right,” she said, “but I believe you. Don't make me regret this.”

“Don't give _me_ another reason to doubt your mental stability,” Weiss countered, folding her arms and frowning.

“Holy fuck,” Yang said, clutching a hand to her heart. “I thought you were gonna fucking shoot her for a minute there. Jesus Christ.”

“Are...are we all good now?” Ruby asked, eyes wide open in terror.

“Yeah. I'm good.” Blake relaxed her grip on the rifle, and headed off to continue securing the barracks. Slowly, and with some apprehension, Yang, Weiss and Ruby followed behind her – though Weiss was careful after that to keep herself behind Blake.

 

Nobody wanted to talk about what had just happened for a while, but Blake could tell Ruby and Yang held doubts about it. She didn't blame them. After all, she had just accused Weiss of working with the enemy that was staring them in the face, and was wrong about it. It'd make anyone cautious. They went up another floor, and began to examine another room.

 

Yang was first to say something. She and Blake stood outside the door, guarding against any potential saboteurs.

“I...I think we fucked up back there,” Yang said, casting downtrodden eyes to the floor.

“Happens.”

“Christ, Blake, you accused her of being a Russian spy. I don't think I've seen Weiss that pissed off since you called her a Nazi.”

Blake shrugged. “Yang, if you had seen what I saw, you'd have thought the same thing. She was suspicious, now I know she's not.”

 

“I guess,” Yang conceded, looking around nervously. “But, still, I mean...that was still pretty serious. You pointed a _gun_ at her.”

“What, was I supposed to just let a Russian spy free to try and fight me? Come on, Yang, I'm not stupid.”

“Yeah, well, you didn't have to point a loaded rifle at her. You know what the sergeants said, don't-”

“ _Don't point a loaded weapon at anything you don't intend to kill_ ,” Blake repeated. “I'm aware. Do you think I forgot about that?”

 

Yang paused, blinking for a few moments before shaking her head. “Blake...I don't know who you are anymore.”

Blake shut her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I'm still the same person, Yang. I just...I couldn't let it rest. We can't trust many people. They have American uniforms now.”

“Shit,” Yang muttered. “They do? _Fuck._ I don't want to shoot any Americans, Blake.”

“We're _not._ We'll be shooting at Russians. They're trying to imitate us, Yang.”

 

Yang shook her head, as if trying to get the images of the day out of her head. “Yeah. I guess. I hope this doesn't change us too much.”

Blake sighed heavily. “It already has.”

 

* * *

 

 

With no further devices, or potential casualties, found inside the barracks, Bravo's orders were now to hold and maintain position. Blake, Ruby, Yang and Weiss had been allowed to rest for a few moments, well-deserved after what they had been through. There was still thick tension in the air, since few could claim a coherent picture of what was going on. All anyone knew was that there were Russians at Beacon, and their goals beyond the bombing were unknown.

 

The four had laid their rifles to the side, leaning against rubble and one of the walls that still stood at the barracks. There wasn't much discussion to be had – Weiss refused to speak directly to Blake, and Ruby and Yang were the intermediaries between the two. What _could_ they even talk about now? The topics they had dove into in the past seemed almost unrealistic now, a lifetime away.

 

They must have been there for half an hour before shouting could be heard from the front of their barracks. That sounded like Sergeant Adel. What was going on? They exchanged the same look – time to figure out what was going on. Each woman grabbed their rifle and jumped up, rounding the corner just as gunshots rang out from their side of the area.

 

Blake was first around, watching Sergeants Adel and Scarlatina popping off shots downhill. The shouts and screams from what she presumed were their targets came next.

_“_ _SHIT! FU-UCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUUCK!”_

“ _STOP FIRING! PLEASE STOP FIRING!”_

“Sergeant, what's going on?!” Blake asked, daring to near them.

“Russians downrange!” Sergeant Adel barked. “We got word there was a squad of Spetsnaz closing on us, and look who we got!”

“Last one down!” Scarlatina called, dropping a magazine and loading a fresh one in.

“You four,” Adel said, pointing to Blake and her friends, “go down there and make sure they're down and out for the count. We'll keep you covered from up here.”

 

They couldn't exactly deny an order from their sergeant. Adel had to have known what she was talking about. Gingerly, the four made their way to the so-called Russians, where each one was writhing on the ground, blood seeping out of their uniforms and onto the grass.

“Stop...s-stop f-firing...why, why, why-hy-hy-hy...” one of them sobbed, trying to keep pressure on his wound.

“What the fuck,” Yang muttered as she strolled among the wounded.

“I...I don't think these guys are Russians,” Ruby said.

“So, uh...” Weiss said. “Who wants to tell the Sergeant?”

 

Blake knelt down next to the sobbing one, since he seemed to be the most coherent out of all the wounded. He looked back up at her, desperately pleading for something, _anything_.

“Hey, buddy,” she said as soothingly as she could, “you...you're not Russian, are you?”

“From Kansas...” he muttered, taking rapid, shallow breaths. “Why...why?”

Blake stood back up, not wanting to look in a dying cadet's eyes any longer. They all knew he was dead, it wouldn't take long now. This was beyond terrible. This entire day was _fucked._ Across campus, more gunshots rang out, coupled with screams of dying people. This wasn't just a fight against the Russians anymore. This had turned into a civil war.


	6. Battle of Beacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The civil war on Beacon's campus begins in earnest.

Pyrrha stood as if her feet were cast in concrete, staring ahead of her. The smell of gunpowder stung her nose, and her rifle was heavy in her hands. In front of her, she saw a field of devastation. Wounded and dying cadets mixed with dead bodies, American and German alike. Someone from Alpha Company had tried to arrest a group of Atlas cadets, suspecting them of being responsible for the bombing. When the Germans protested, a fight broke out, uneven until one of the Germans had wrestled away a rifle from American hands.

 

“ _Bitte!”_ called out one of the dying Germans. _“Hilf mir! Das ist zu wahnsinn!”_

Jaune stepped next to her, seeing the same scene she did and holding back vomit. “What's happening, Pyrrha?”

“I...I don't know,” she confessed. “Should...should we help them?”

“You four,” a lieutenant called out, pointing to Pyrrha and her squad. Her black hair was cut short, and her red eyes had a fire of determination in them. She was followed by a short sergeant with pink and black hair, a corporal with green hair, and a staff sergeant with blue hair. Each one clutched a rifle in their hands, looking around for potential threats.

 

“Uh, yes, ma'am?” Pyrrha asked, trying to place her. Who was she?

“What company are you with? What happened here?”

“Uh, we're with Bravo,” Jaune said. “I...I think someone from Alpha tried to arrest these guys.”

“Hmm,” the lieutenant said, looking over the pile of bodies. “Alright, you're with me for now. We're from Echo, we've got to hunt down these Russians.”

 

Pyrrha, Ren, Nora and Jaune looked at each other, shrugging. There wasn't much they could do. After all, it was a lieutenant. She had to know more than they did. They quickly fell in behind their new superior officer, making sure to check their corners as much as they did.

“Excuse me, lieutenant,” Ren finally said. “I don't believe we ever caught your names.”

“I'm Lieutenant Horowitz,” she said, “but my friends call me Cinder. Staff Sergeant Walker, but we call him Mercury. Corporal Blackwood, and Sergeant Sanderson.”

“I'd prefer if you called me Emerald,” Corporal Blackwood said.

“Neo here's a bit quiet,” Mercury said, gesturing to Sergeant Sanderson. “Don't worry. It's not because she doesn't like you. She just doesn't have much to say.”

 

So many nicknames. It struck Pyrrha as odd, but then again, this entire day was strange so far. It wasn't anything like she thought it would be. She didn't think her second year at Beacon would include firing the first shots of a war with Russia. The eight toured the campus together, heading around and checking up on other companies. They were nearing the bombed barracks now, Pyrrha's former home. She wondered who was up here.

 

“Stop where you are!” Sergeant Adel called out, aiming her rifle at them.

“Is that Adel?” Jaune asked.

“Hey, settle down, Sergeant,” Cinder said, “we're just checking up on everything is all. Did those Russians ever swing by?”

“Yeah, they fucking did,” Adel shouted back. “I have a surprise for you, _ma'am,_ they weren't Russians. We shot up a squad of _Americans!_ ” Adel glanced behind Cinder, seeing Pyrrha, Jaune, Ren and Nora behind her. “Woah, what the fuck are you doing with my soldiers? Corporal, Privates, over here, _now!_ ”

 

“Don't move,” Mercury advised. “I think your sergeant may not be all there.”

Just as he had finished saying this, Ruby, Yang, Weiss and Blake appeared too, drawn to them by the shouting.

“NIKOS! REN! VALKYRIE! ARC! I AM _NOT_ GOING TO ASK AGAIN!” Adel shouted, aiming her rifle at the lieutenant and her retinue as Sergeants Scarlatina, Alistair and Daichi arrived, taking up positions. “ _GET OVER HERE, NOW!”_

“Sergeant,” Cinder asked, cool as ice, “perhaps we should all calm down, and lower our rifles? Surely there's an answer for this.”

“Yeah, _you_ warned us about that Russian squad, and then those guys showed up five minutes later. I'm betting _you're_ the Russians, and you just want to make us confused. Nikos, what company did these fucks say they were from? She told us Foxtrot.”

 

“Uh...” Pyrrha said, stammering. “She...she said Echo.”

Cinder sighed, shaking her head. “It could have been so easy,” she said, stepping forward. Without warning, she rotated her body around to lie prone, and began firing as the others scattered. Within seconds, Neo was upon Pyrrha, quickly working to disarm her as shots rang out all around them. Before she could even react, Pyrrha's rifle was knocked out of her hands and the fake sergeant had swept her off her feet. As she rolled over to get her bearings, she watched Emerald and Mercury perform a series of rolls, minimizing their profile as they maneuvered to clearer space. Cinder herself was rolling on the ground as well, stopping only to return fire and keep her sergeant's heads down.

 

She looked over, and saw Jaune hastily loading a new magazine into his rifle, standing tall as he began firing back at the Russians. Ren and Nora were doing the same, although crouching down to present a smaller target. The Russians were in retreat, but not before causing damage – she heard one of her sergeants, either Alistair and Daichi, crying out in pain. Within seconds, Jaune fell too, clutching his leg. Now fully recovered, Pyrrha leapt up to assist.

 

“Jaune,” Pyrrha said, looking over his bloody leg, “where'd you get hit? Can you move it?”

“Agh, dammit,” Jaune muttered, trying to keep himself steady. “I dunno. It hurts.”

“I know,” Pyrrha said, trying to trace the wound. She rolled up his pant leg – it looked like a grazing hit. Not great, since he had been shot, but not life-threatening either. It didn't appear to have hit anything major. But, she wasn't a combat medic, or a medic of any kind, really. Her medical knowledge was fairly limited here.

 

Before she could call a medic, Nora had already screamed for one. Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang descended upon them, checking up on all of their friends. Blake in particular was worried the Russian that Pyrrha had tangled with had caused wounds she wasn't aware of, but a cursory exam cleared that from their minds.

 

“SQUAD!” Adel shouted from her position. “Both of you, go find those Russians and fucking kill them! Keep in groups! I'm gonna spread the word that there's four, _exactly_ four Russians, so you're all safe if you stick together! Don't you dare come back without their heads!”

“Yes, sergeant!” they shouted out, and as a full unit, they headed out to find the Russians. They couldn't have gone far.

 

* * *

 

 

The Russians proved elusive. Nobody reported seeing the imposters, and as they rounded the drill field to check it once more, word came in that a mandatory evacuation was underway. Large M35 trucks had arrived on campus, driven by what remained of the senior cadre. Professor Port in particular stood on the back of one, a loudspeaker in his hand, demanding anyone nearby collect themselves and, in an orderly and military fashion, board the trucks so they could leave. He almost was insistent that they board as well, but once he heard of their mission, he gave them a free pass to, in his words, “kill every dishonorable Communist from here to Moscow.”

 

“This can't be that hard,” Yang said as they roamed campus. “I mean, one of them had pink hair for crying out loud. Where the hell did they go?”

“Just keep scanning,” Ren reminded them, aiming at a bush he felt was particularly threatening.

Suddenly, gunshots rang out to their left. They ran as fast as they could towards it, where they saw a handful of cadets, half firing, the other half having thrown down their rifles and trying to escape. One of them sprinted past them, not really speaking words, but incoherent, high-pitched babbling that made no sense. As they neared, they saw that the Russians either didn't exist, or had already withdrawn when they saw Pyrrha and her friends approach.

 

“Cease fire!” Blake shouted, heading up to the broken wall that the cadets were using as cover.

“They're coming,” replied the shaken private. “They're coming, they're coming, _they'recomingthey'recomingthey'recomingthey're-_ _ **ahJesuchristashudahere!**_ ”

“Calm yourself down, goddammit!” Nora shouted, shoving the private's rifle back into his hands. “Where the fuck did the Russians go?!”

“There they are!” Jaune called out, pointing to the east. “Over there!”

 

Pyrrha spotted them, moving near Murphy Building. It looked like they were trying to take cover in it, storming the interior. Was it better to engage them in close quarters? Or wait for reinforcements? Did they even _have_ that option?

“Let's go get the bastards!” Yang shouted, charging down the hill. That probably settled it. In a mass rush, the other six, with Jaune lagging behind due to his wound, followed Yang to meet the Russians head on. Pyrrha saw them smashing out windows with the stocks of their rifles, swiftly turning them around to engage.

“They're opening fire!” Pyrrha warned, diving for any cover that could be found. Scattered rocks and trees were all they could use right now.

“Fire and maneuver!” Weiss shouted, taking cover behind a solid tree and returning shots. “Ruby, we'll cover them! The rest of you, go!”

Friendly M14 shots were sent downrange, forcing the Russians to take cover as Pyrrha, Yang, Blake, Ren, and Nora moved up. Jaune elected to help with suppressing fire, unable to effectively move up.

 

“We've got you covered!” Blake yelled back. “Go!”

Weiss, Ruby and Jaune moved up as they poured lead into the building in front of them, but it was impossible to know if they were really suppressing them. The enemy had plenty of windows to choose from, and being forced away from one could mean, if they were smart about it, the Russians could just move to another one. More shots were exchanged as their friends joined them, just a scant forty feet from Murphy Hall.

 

“Okay,” Yang said, “here's how we're gonna play this. Ren, Nora, Pyrrha, and I, we're gonna fucking wreck them in there. Rest of you, stay out here and make sure they don't escape.”

“Alright,” Jaune said, “I'm gonna maneuver around to the back.”

“I'll stay here,” Blake reported.

“Ruby, we can cover the far ends.”

With their plan of attack understood, the eight began moving, checking magazines and preparing to breach and clear. There wouldn't be any room for error here.


	7. End of the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang, Nora, Ren and Pyrrha engage the Spetsnaz in a close-quarters fight.

The four kicked down the door into Murphy Hall, breaching and clearing as they had been taught. Yang led the way, owing to her status as Rogue Platoon and the one with the most experience in room-clearing operations. They had only seen the Russians firing out of the second floor, but they couldn't be too careful – they had to clear every room on every floor just to make sure their enemy wasn't lying in wait for them. The white and beige hallways seemed to go on forever, endless kicking in classroom doors and seeing only the remains of a panicked evacuation. Countless backpacks, notebooks, pencils and personal items had been left in the chaos, a reminder that their campus was no longer whole.

 

The first floor was cleared, and soon their attention turned to the stairwell. There were two on each end of the building, including one in the center, and there was no guarantee that the Russians wouldn't decide to ambush them at one of them. Therefore, they had to split up. If the Russians wanted their ambush, they'd have to work for it. Pyrra and Yang moved to one end of the hall, while Ren and Nora prepared to take the other staircase. From across the building, Yang silently counted down, until they charged up the stairs as one. Pyrrha heard gunshots echo from the far end. One, or more, of them must have ambushed Ren and Nora as they predicted.

 

She and Yang made their way up the stairs, rounding the corner to see Mercury and Emerald, firing off shots to the staircase. Yang and Pyrrha both took careful aim, and opened fire, but at the last second loud Russian warned their targets of the deceit, and the two moved out of the way just in time to avoid the shots. The eight exchanged fire for some time, rounds bouncing off walls and drilling holes behind them. Pyrrha wasn't sure if she ever actually hit anything, or just forced them to sit back for a moment. Either way, Yang had taken their collective suppressive fire to move up, growing angrier and angrier with the passing second.

 

Pyrrha watched Ren and Nora follow their two ambushers into a room, followed shortly by Yang engaging Neo in Major Oobleck's history class. Where was their leader, the one masquerading as an officer? Pyrrha rushed forward, trying to find her, glancing at Yang's fight. She was locked in madness-induced melee with the small sergeant, literally throwing an empty magazine at Neo in an attempt to stun her. Her Russian counterpart had a cocky smile locked on her face, dodging every punch, every thrust, every move Yang tried.

 

Yang took her eyes off the fight for a split second, seeing Pyrrha. “Fucking go!” she ordered, returning to her fight. “Kill their fucking leader!”

Pyrrha stepped off, running to the room she had seen Ren and Nora go into. Nothing. Both of her friends were on the ground, dazed and pointing down the hall. A door slammed open, and the three remaining Russians burst from it, heading down the central staircase. Mercury paused long enough to fire off a few shots, but soon returned to running with the others.

 

She had no choice. Pyrrha had to give chase.

 

* * *

 

 

Pyrrha followed the Russians outside, who ran past Jaune and fired at him, keeping his head down. Scattered shots from either Ruby or Weiss scattered them as they ran to the administrative building. She saw another figure in the distance. Was that...was that the Commandant? What was Commandant Ozpin doing in there? Before she knew it, Pyrrha had followed them to the small plaza right before the admin building, pausing to catch her breath. Jaune was right behind her, limping but keeping pace.

 

“Okay,” Jaune said, looking around the plaza in a panic, “I think I can find Chief Goodwitch...just...where was she?”

Pyrrha stared at the admin building, its golden peak shining even with the dark clouds covering the sky. That was the last place she had seen the Russians go into. It was the last place she had seen the Commandant. Her attention was taken away from the building by Jaune putting a hand on her shoulder, his rifle clutched in his off hand.

“Pyrrha? What's going on?”

“I...”

An explosion rocked the campus, and on instinct, both she and Jaune turned to the source in the admin building, which now had a new hole in it.

“But...” Jaune muttered, “Ozpin...”

“There's no time,” Pyrrha said. “Find Colonel Logan, call for help.”

“What are you gonna do?”

 

Pyrrha slowly turned, facing the admin building again. There was only one thing she _could_ do.

“No,” Jaune said slowly, realizing what was going on. “No, Pyrrha, you _can't._ You saw how skilled she is! Pyrrha, I can't let you -”

“I'm sorry,” Pyrrha said, breaking into a sprint for the building.

Jaune tried to run after her, but it was for naught. His wounded leg prevented him from giving chase, and he was helpless as he watched Pyrrha charge into the remains of the admin building.

 

* * *

 

 

Pyrrha ran through the abandoned hallways, past wrecked offices and blood-stained carpets, until she reached the Commandant's Office. The Russian, Cinder, had taken it for her own, making radio contact with Moscow. Hurried Russian could be heard through the door, just another reminder for Pyrrha that yes, this was all too real. She checked her rifle's magazine – it was heavy in her hand. Could have been a full mag, could have been a little over half full. Anywhere between twelve and twenty rounds left. Panic seeped in as she realized she only had just this one magazine left for her M14. Where had all her ammo gone? Had she really depleted four full magazines fighting the other Russians?

 

Cinder sounded satisfied on the other end of the door. No time to think. She _had_ to engage the Russian here and now, extra ammo or no. Pyrrha reinserted the magazine, crashing through the door and ready to go. Behind the Commandant's desk stood Cinder, an M14 of her own in her hand. Immediately, Pyrrha raised the sights to her face and began firing, sending two rounds at her. Cinder dodged them easily, taking cover behind the Commandant's heavy oak desk and returning fire.

 

Pyrrha took her foe's unaimed fire as opportunity to dive behind an overturned bookshelf, rising out of it to exchange fire with the Russian. She ducked down when she saw Cinder raise the rifle, hearing the bullets bury themselves in the wood she had taken cover behind. Either the Russian's aim was terrible, or she had no idea how powerful the 7.62mm bullet really _was._ Pyrrha took her M14 up again, squeezing the trigger, and heard it click.

 

Cinder heard this, and rose to open fire as well with an easy shot lined up, but her rifle clicked as well. Now neither of them had ammo. Pyrrha charged forward, unleashing a battle cry she didn't even know she had, winding up to strike the Russian with the butt of her rifle. Now locked in close-quarters battle, she and Cinder sparred with their rifle stocks. It was as back and forth as a fight for their very lives could be – each time Pyrrha gained the upper hand, Cinder brought it back. Likewise, whenever Cinder had an advantage, Pyrrha punished her for being overaggressive.

 

Pyrrha managed to knock the M14 out of her enemy's hands, and as she was stunned, held her in a lock, holding her rifle against Cinder's neck. Pyrrha could hear the life being choked out of Cinder as she struggled against the cold steel of the receiver pressed against her neck. Unexpectedly, Cinder jabbed Pyrrha in the side with her elbow, knocking her back and forcing her to release the grip on the rifle and her foe's neck.

 

Now it was her turn to be dazed. Pyrrha could see her M14 lying in front of her, a mere three feet away. Cinder stood before her, tall and confident, with a cocky smile on her face. She drew a knife, from where Pyrrha didn't know, and threw it at Pyrrha as she tried to grab the rifle. She felt the sharp pain of it hit her square in her gut, and she fell to the ground, coughing up blood.

 

“It's a shame you were promised a world that was never truly yours,” Cinder said, crouching before her and lifting Pyrrha's head up, “but take comfort in knowing that the Soviet Union will bring peace here.”

“Do you believe in destiny?” Pyrrha asked, defiant to the very end.

Cinder frowned, narrowing her eyes. “ _Yes._ ”

Pyrrha was helpless, watching Cinder take the M14 and fix a bayonet to it, readjusting the grip in her hands as if readying herself to throw it like a javelin. Pyrrha knew what was coming – she closed her eyes, embracing her death. She didn't feel as if her death was in vain. She knew she had fought until she couldn't fight any more. She knew that, right now, the Army would take the fight back to Russia.

 

Suddenly, a sharp pain. Pyrrha opens her eyes involuntarily, seeing the bayonet square in her chest as she gasps in pain. Cinder's holding the rifle, twisting it to drive the bayonet even deeper in and grinding against her very ribs. Pyrrha falls to the floor silently, and in her last conscious moments, she sees Ruby.

 

_**“Pyrrha!”**_ she yells, raising her rifle and firing at Cinder, countless shots in slow motion until it's clicking. _Ruby._ If only it wasn't a bayonet wound. If only that damned Russian hadn't twisted it. If only everything had happened just a few minutes earlier.

 

_It's time to come home._

 

Stefan?

 

_Come on home, Pyrrha. You can rest easy now._

 

Oh God, it's Stefan. _I'm so sorry, Stefan._

 

_It's okay. You're going to be okay._


End file.
